Videogames from vending machines…I see a business model here

Wierd, a dream that could, possibly, have been in linear time! Anyway, it starts out that myself and someone are walking down a downtown city street somewhere that is defined to be NYC (how do I know this? I don’t know…there aren’t any where-am-I cues around), and see a video game store. The window signage reads “La-Z-Bob’s Games … the laziest video game store in existence” or something to that effect. Sure enough, the entire game selection and purchasing process is entirely automated, the cartridges (etc.) come out of what vaguely resembles a snack vending machine, and the clerk (presumably Bob) sits behind a counter with his feet up, watching TV and generally not having any reason to pay attention to what goes on in the store, because it’s all automated and steal-proof. There are also some consoles set up Funcoland-style with playable games on them. So we walk in and are ready to dive for them, and “Bob” looks up and yells at us that this is a store, not an arcade. Rats, profiled at the door. So we leave, giving “Bob” copious amounts of middle finger in the process. Next thing I know we’re in the stairwell of an old abandoned-looking (from the inside) skyscraper, working our way to the top floor. For some reason it was our mission to knock out the phone service to the entire city, and the whole central-control something-or-other was at the top of this building. As we near the top, it’s becoming apparent that somebody doesn’t want people up here, large entire chunks of the stairway are missing. Somehow (with a lot of jumping and a little hanging/swinging) we get to the top of the stairwell, open the door, and… it opens into a hallway on the 2nd floor of a log cabin I didn’t recognize, and we’re looking around going “where is it, where is it?”. And my dad’s there, and he yells up from the downstairs to check the window in the hallway (which faced *into* the house, not out of)…so I go and look at it, expecting to see all sorts of switching equipment through it, but it’s the stained glass window from our cabin. I see my reflection in it (it was for some reason much more reflective than stained glass should be, as if there was another pane of flat glass in front of it) and notice that a) I’m this disheveled, crazy-looking old guy with hair going everywhere at random, b) whoever I was doing all this with, either ditched out just at that moment, or didn’t have a reflection.

And then I woke up.


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